


Cutting Losses

by Airams



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (but only to Hanzo), Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Emotional Abuse, Gen, More tags to come as chapters go by, No Smut, Not Incest I swear, Physical Abuse, Shimada Dad is a bad guy, Swearing, brothers being brothers, shimada bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:38:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airams/pseuds/Airams
Summary: (Rated Mature for sensitive topics, violence, and torture in later chapters.)From boys to men, and then some.A look into the relationship between the Shimada brothers and the change of it over the years, full of inner and outer turmoil. Starts at ages 15 and 12, and ends at 38 and 35 (present day Overwatch).Hanzo-centric- the story is mostly told from his perspective. My first fanwork for Overwatch!





	

**Author's Note:**

> There will be no ships for now, because I want this to mainly focus on the brotherly relationship between Hanzo and Genji. There might be some later if I think it's appropriate though. This will be a multi-chapter fanfiction, and I plan on having the chapters be broken up by years. They won't be jumping ahead at neat increments of five or three; it'll focus on things that I perceive as "important."
> 
> As the story progresses and more chapters are added, I'll be editing the tags and warnings accordingly.
> 
> This chapter takes place when Hanzo is fifteen and Genji is twelve.
> 
> EDIT: I'm never finishing this so it's just a oneshot now

He breathed in, then out. Hanzo was focused solely on the target in front of him. The string of the bow was drawn taut, the arrow ready to be released. _Not yet,_ he reminded himself. _Have patience._

In, out. In, out.

The frigid winter air filled his lungs, biting at his insides, stinging, keeping him alert, keeping him attentive and at the ready. He appraised his target, and noted the alignment of his bow one last time.

In, out. In, out.

He let the arrow fly, watching as it struck dead center with a swelling sense of satisfaction. He lowered his bow, watching the snow gradually slip off the target that his arrow struck. Polite applause gave him the cue to turn around.

Hanzo’s movements were careful and calculated, minding the leg that he had injured the morning prior due to a climbing mishap during his training. “Excellent as always, Hanzo,” his father’s words were those of praise, but his tone was steely and apathetic. It was clear to anyone who bothered that he was not the slightest bit sincere. Hanzo nodded in response to the empty words. “I’m glad to see that your injury has no bearing on your performance.”

“Yes,” he said, “I have worked my way around much worse, father.” He noted the way his father’s lips curled into an amused smirk.

“I expect no less from my eldest son,” he said, a hint of pride riding on his words. “I hope to see far greater things in the future as your training progresses.” His father stood up and Hanzo noted his posture. 

His head was held high, his back straight, his eyes forward. Regal, striking, imposing. Hanzo became self conscious of his own posture, noting how his feet were placed in relation to each other. He set them straight as discreetly as he could, though his efforts were wasted, since his father had the eyes of a hawk.

The corners of his lips twitched back to a neutral position. “You may take your leave, Hanzo. Breakfast has been prepared for you.” With that, he began to walk down the hall to his right. The teenager bowed stiffly as his father rounded the corner, off to attend to his duties as the clan leader. The duties that he would inherit someday, he thought to himself.

Hanamura was cold today.

He shifted, pulling up the left sleeve of his _kyudo gi_ to cover his previously exposed arm. Hanzo looked up towards the slowly rising sun, its insubstantial rays doing nothing to banish the chill that seeped into his bones. 

He drew his clothing around him a bit tighter, and walked back into the castle, shedding his wooden sandals before he entered. The floor was cold as well, but he resisted the urge to shiver. 

The cold was not too bad this morning, compared to the more unbearable days, deep in winter and deep in snow. His brother did not mind the perpetual chill that permeated the castle during the long winter months, since he had little to do other than waste his time hiding under the _kotatsu_ or lazily play the days away at the arcades in Hanamura.

Hanzo had responsibilities. He had training to do every morning, lessons to attend, lessons at noon, training right after-- he had little to no free time to do with what he wanted. Unlike Hanzo, his feathers were made for flight. 

Genji was free.

Free to do what he wanted, free from their father’s judgement, free from responsibility and free from the weight of inheriting an entire criminal empire. Free to indulge in frivolous, wasteful habits.

Hanzo was not allowed. If he were to be found doing such things, he would most certainly be punished for his slovenly acts.

+++++

He was less than surprised to see his brother under the _kotatsu_ and eating mandarins while playing one of his handheld games. He wasn’t sitting properly, if at all. He rested on his stomach with his arms stretched out in front of him, and his lower body underneath the table’s blanket. There were orange colored peelings on the floor next to him, gathered neatly onto a napkin next to a partially consumed fruit. A few white rinds were scattered around it. 

Genji looked up upon his entry. “Brother!” His eyes lit up, sparkling in delight as he closed the handheld device. He flashed a cheeky grin at Hanzo. The elder brother couldn’t help the affectionate twitch of his lips, which only made the other smile wider, triumphant.

“Genji,” he greeted, moving to sit opposite his younger brother. Hanzo nudged his younger brother’s feet, urging him to make room. “What are you doing?” He heard a bit of shuffling as his brother drew himself upright, now sitting instead of lying about.

“I was playing the new game I bought yesterday before you came in. Now, I’m talking to you.” Typical. Hanzo feigned interest as he slid his legs under the table, taking up the space that Genji had so generously freed.

“What type of game was it?”

Genji snorted indelicately, pretending to have rolled his eyes so hard that his entire head followed the arcing motion. “ _Broooooooootherrrrrr_ ,” he drawled, “we both know that you give no shits about video games.” He stuck out his tongue petulantly in response to the sharp look Hanzo shot his way. “Pardon my French,” came the half hearted apology. 

He shook his head in mock disbelief. “When did you decide to learn another language?” Genji looked puzzled. “Are you finally getting serious about your education?” Hanzo reached over to get himself one of the small orange fruits.

Genji wrinkled his nose as if he just smelled something bad. “What? I was _joking_. You didn’t think that was actual French, did you?” He almost sounded worried.

Hanzo had to stifle a laugh, badly disguising it as a cough. He cleared his throat, deciding to take his time with answering as Genji all but squirmed in his seated position, growing a bit antsy. “I was being sarcastic,” he clarified, popping a slice into his mouth.

“Oh,” he began, the worriedness intensifying for a split second before melting off his face. “ _Ohhhh_ ,” he sounded like he had just reached an enlightenment of sorts, but the gravity of the revelation was lost on Hanzo, as he bit into another piece of mandarin, frowning minutely as he noted a seed was inside. 

A kick from underneath the table startled him, and he bit the seed apart. His expression was as sour as the resulting taste, and his right leg stung a bit more than it should have, due to his lingering injury. “Wow, and here I thought you might’ve actually lost it after spending so much time outside in the cold!” Genji snickered, his feet now on Hanzo’s lap as they tried to prod his stomach.

Hanzo snorted incredulously, reaching down to tickle them and reveling in the laughter that came from it. His younger brother pulled his feet back out of his personal bubble. “I’m not old enough to go crazy from the winter snow,” he said. “Maybe I’m just a bit off because of it. Not that you’d know, since you spend all the cold days under a _kotatsu_ and playing your…” he struggled to remember the correct term. “Your… _otome_ games.”

Hanzo felt another jab at his knee, and he couldn’t suppress his laughter as Genji scowled at him from across the table. “They’re not _otome_ games,” he muttered, “they’re called _galge_ , brother. _Otome_ games are for _girls_!” He whined, kicking a bit more insistently, as if begging for Hanzo to acknowledge him.

“From the way you’re complaining, I’d think that you were one,” he teased. It seemed that tickling had not been punishment enough, so Hanzo reached under the blanket of the _kotatsu_ , grabbing Genji by the ankles and tugging.

Genji slid off his mat with a startled yelp, and he clutched at the table as soon as he registered the forward movement. He shot Hanzo a dirty look, struggling to wiggle free. “Broth _errrrrrrrrrrrrrr_ ,” he whined, struggling a bit more, “lemme go!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Hanzo released his captive, watching with a bemused expression as Genji hastily pulled himself back up, squawking indignantly as he realized his pile of mandarin peels had toppled over.

His brother scowled at him, and Hanzo couldn’t help the smug smile on his face as he watched Genji properly gather up his trash. His own mandarin had been split neatly, unlike the haphazard ripping that had been used to open his brother’s. How unrefined, Hanzo thought.

He wondered if Genji’s handheld device was covered in sticky fruit juices, but decided against asking. He didn’t really want to know. An annoyed huff drew his attention back to the present, as he looked across the table at his brother. His arms were on the table, one upright to cradle his face, and the other laying flat. 

Hanzo quirked an eyebrow. “Something the matter?” Genji was still frowning, though there was no malice in his expression. If Hanzo had to label it as something, he’d go with contemplative. Not that Genji had the mental capacity to think, though. Hanzo filed away that impromptu insult away for future use.

Genji squinted comically, and Hanzo cleared his expression once more, feeling as if he were being judged. What was he trying to do? “Brother,” he said. His voice was firm and determined. It cut through the air like a knife. Hanzo was not accustomed to such a professional tone from his younger brother, and was hardpressed to hide his surprise.

The gears in his mind began to turn entirely too fast as he replied cooly, concealing his growing panic. “Yes, Genji?”

“We should hang out.”

Ah. Overthinking things.

Hanzo, still a bit stiff, sighed. “Genji,” he started, feeling more than a bit exasperated. This was not the first time they had held this sort of conversation. “You _know_ I have work to do,” he said, equally resolute. Already, his brother wavered, his expression softening with worry and guilt. He recovered quickly, much to Hanzo’s chagrin. He couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of his brother for having grown a stronger backbone, however.

“Yeah, so?” Genji sat up straighter, moving to cross his arms over his chest. “You can do that after you come back. Nothing’s stopping you from spending time with me.” He puffed out his chest, shooting Hanzo a stern look reminiscent of their father’s.

“Father would stop me,” Hanzo refuted. Genji deflated a little at that, but Hanzo kept going. “The elders would not like it either. No matter how you look at it, Genji, I do not have the time.” His younger brother reared up where Hanzo had expected him to sulk, and threw his hands up in the air.

“So what?! Those old cronies can take their distaste and shove it up their-”

“ _Genji_.”

“Don’t you ‘Genji’ me- !”

“Brother, _listen_ -”

“Oh shove it, Hanzo! I’m so tired of them bossing you around all the time; you never get time to spend doing things other than eating, sleeping, or training anymore. And you don’t say anything! You just listen to them like a dog, and I just-” he cut himself off. “I just…” Genji lost momentum, glaring down at the table. He was obviously worked up, and Hanzo felt a bit bad for not talking to him more as of late. He couldn’t help it, though. Genji was right. He was heavily restricted by the leaders of the clan, but it was to be expected.

Hanzo didn’t have the luxury of being a child anymore. Not when he was being primed to be the ideal leader of the Shimada clan. He lost the privilege of being innocent and carefree as soon as he was born, and while Genji still had it, it was a bit lessened now with age and experience. 

Hanzo’s hands clenched underneath the red blanket of the _kotatsu_ , though he kept his eyes on his brother, not looking away as Genji had.

“You just…?” He prompted, trying to get the rest of the sentence out.

Genji seemed conflicted, but he gathered his resolve once more, his tone tense with deliberation, as if he wasn’t finished with his internal debate. “I just want it to be like when we were kids again,” he said, his tone bitter with nostalgia.

The pain budding in his heart blossomed under the warmth of Genji’s longing. Hanzo felt the vines twist and constrict, making it difficult to breathe properly. _Breathe slowly, deliberately, with purpose,_ he reminded himself. The surge of emotion within him was quelled quickly, as if it had never been there. Genji did not seem to notice, as his gaze was fixed on the table.

“Brother,” he started again, cautiously. “We are children no longer.” Hanzo wanted to go back to when times were simpler, when he could pretend to be a child, hiding his few years of discipline underneath a deceptively youthful mask. His disguise was no more. He was almost at the age of responsibility, where his training would be deemed enough to allow him to accompany the clan on various missions.

Hanzo was almost old enough to take on even more responsibilities, ones that would prime him for leading the clan that had raised him for that very purpose.

“I know,” Genji replied. His tone was somber, resigned. He wasn’t foolish, that was something Hanzo knew. His brother was not stupid. “But would it hurt to act your age?” The comment was barbed, though Hanzo knew his brother did not mean for it to be, if his guilty look was anything to go by.

“I cannot,” Hanzo said. Genji bit his lip. The statement was there, just barely implied. Barely was enough to go off of when they had lived together for over a decade.

Genji knew what Hanzo had to act like. It would have been more difficult for him to not find out, since they resided within the same home- the same castle. Even if the younger Shimada was not there at all hours of the day like Hanzo was, he was around enough to witness the elder brother’s training, his lessons in etiquette, his curt manner of speaking adopted from his father and the elders, and the way he walked, the way he held himself in their presence.

Regal.

Striking.

Imposing.

Just like their father.

Hanzo was never treated the same as Genji, and the latter couldn’t help but find it immensely unfair, as he had admitted to Hanzo several times. How horrid it was that Hanzo was required to train every morning, day, and night. How Hanzo was not given the option of refusing lessons, how Hanzo was not given the ability to spread his wings on his own accord, how he could only fly when he was permitted to.

Genji was a sparrow, chirping jaunty little songs on the branches of the _sakura_ trees outside. 

Hanzo was a hawk, his wings clipped, his proud image only visible through the barbs of an elaborate birdcage.

It was unfair, Genji had said.

Hanzo told him it was to be expected.

“Hanzo?”

He looked up at the sound of his name, quickly unclenching his hands. Little crescent shaped indentations burned on his skin like fire. “Yes, Genji?” He had spaced out for a bit too long, and the uncomfortably heavy silence had drawn out his brother from his state of partial sulking.

His brother sounded almost reproachful. Hesitant. “I still think we should hang out.”

Hanzo exhaled quickly through his nose, a pitiful attempt at laughter.

He was going to get hell for this.

“Hang out we shall.”

The sparkling look of adoration from his younger brother made it worth it.

+++++

Hanamura was cold today.

He looked over at his brother, watching the way that each breath exhaled was visible. Genji’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, his blue scarf coiling around his neck and the lower part of his face. He was wearing civilian clothing, dressed in a winter coat that was more for show than for keeping him warm.

Hanzo, after careful deliberation, had decided to wear a simple, informal _kimono_ , with a winter _haori_ over it. The right shoulder sleeve had the insignia of the Shimada clan embroidered into it, signalling his status to anyone who knew what it stood for.

He felt a bit cold, but he would be alright. They weren’t going to spend the entire day outside, after all. Genji had promised to show him around the civilian side of Hanamura- all his favorite places to ‘hang out,’ as he had said. _Ditch work_ , Hanzo corrected himself internally.

While Genji kept up with his training, he was not nearly as diligent as he could be. Not nearly as diligent as Hanzo had to be. Rather than practicing his accuracy and stealth, he spent his time in the city, socializing with the civilians and getting to know the locals.

Hanzo didn’t see the point. The Shimada clan protected Hanamura from rival clans and hostile outside forces, but only because it was their base. There was nothing more to it, though Genji obviously thought otherwise. To Hanzo, Hanamura was home, but only a specific part of it. The rest was a dreamlike memory he couldn’t quite grasp anymore. Memories of running through the streets, racing with his younger brother to see who could run past the bend of a street the fastest.

Nostalgia was a hunter, and for once, Hanzo was vulnerable.

“We’re here,” Genji said, reaching over to tug at Hanzo’s hand. The elder brother allowed himself to be guided inside what seemed to be a gaming center. “You already had breakfast, right?” Hanzo nodded, looking around the room of the building he had just entered. There were a few people scattered around, though not too many. Hanzo’s hand reached over to rub his left elbow, where a blade was concealed. Assassins were always a threat, and one he hoped he would be ready for. He didn’t want to cause a commotion in a civilian area, but if it called for it, he would be ready to defend both himself and his brother. It would not come to that, he hoped, but he was not privy to the elaborate strings of fate, nor their gentle tug on him.

“Good,” his brother said, tugging Hanzo towards a brightly colored machine. “We can spend a lot of time here, then.” He almost sounded giddy, as if excited to show his skill in the games. “I know a place where we can eat lunch, too. Oh, there’s also a shop around here that sells cute chopsticks- that’s where I got your birthday present last year. They sell bowls too…” Genji prattled on about the shops and tourist attractions in the area, and Hanzo was content to listen as he continued to take in the room.

A few posters were on the walls, bright colors paired with vivid imagery. Most advertised either some sort of food product or a new movie that was going to come out soon. There was a small plaque next to the entrance. _Deguchi_ , he noted. He frowned minutely at that, wondering if there was only one door in the arcade.

There were a few claw machines tucked away against a wall close to the entrance containing odd… tentacled onions? He recalled seeing the character in a show he caught Genji watching a few times. _Pachimari_ , if he remembered correctly. Maybe he’d make an attempt at winning one later.

Genji showed him around the arcade for a minute before bringing him over to a game meant for two, showing him the basic controls, then proceeding to repeatedly beat Hanzo to the ground in the game.

His lips twitched downwards and his brows furrowed in concentration as he tried his best to acclimate to the new medium, and his expression had morphed into a scowl by the time Genji had gotten bored enough to pull Hanzo towards another machine.

It was aggravating, how he was so easily bested. He was a beginner, yes, but Hanzo did not like being so thoroughly embarrassed.

He could tell Genji was having fun, though, if his beaming expression was anything to go by. Hanzo couldn’t exactly tell if it was because he was spending time with his brother, or because he was enjoying Hanzo’s continuous defeats.

He had to admit that he was a bit concerned with the amount of money that Genji was willing to spend, but he said nothing of it, not wanting to spoil his younger brother’s good mood. Genji’s smile radiated confidence; the consecutive victories obviously inflated his ego. Hanzo’s competitive spirit flared up, not wanting to be defeated by his younger brother so many times. It was downright _shameful_.

Hanzo spent the next few minutes furiously grappling with the clawing machine in an attempt to get one of the _Pachimari_ out. When he finally succeeded, a small smirk made its way onto his face, and he pulled out his prize pridefully. His brother whistled lowly. “You know, I never managed to get one of those things out,” he admitted, his voice bitter with jealousy.

“A defeat follows each victory,” Hanzo said sagely. He had lost entirely too much that day.

Genji rolled his eyes, not interested in Hanzo’s little quip. He huffed in playful annoyance, crossing his arms. “Whatever,” he said. “I hope you’re hungry, brother, because we’re going to Rikimaru’s now.”

Hanzo nodded, clutching the oddly designed plush to him.

It squeaked, as if accepting verbally in place of Hanzo. 

The two brothers shared a look, cracking smiles at each other as Genji reached for the plush himself, squeezing it once more.

_Squeak_.

+++++

Hanzo busied himself with tuning in and out of the various conversations going on about him as he waited for Genji to finish ordering their ramen, glancing around the room as he did so.

There weren’t any suspicious characters lurking about, which could be both a blessing and a curse. Someone who was visibly different from the locals would most likely be an amateur, unskilled in the arts of assassination. Those who were more experience would have the foresight to scout out the civilians beforehand. Hanzo looked back down at the table, a dim reflection of his face staring back up at him. 

He reached up to fix his hair, making it fall a bit flatter than it had earlier. Being out in the wind didn’t do him any favors, evidently.

Genji trotted back to their table noisily, his shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Hanzo looked up, his eyes following Genji as he plopped down inelegantly in the seat opposite Hanzo’s.

“We used to come here a lot as kids,” he said, to which Hanzo nodded once more, affirming his brother’s statement. He remembered getting lunch at Rikimaru’s often after running around town with his brother, when he had a bit more time to spend with his sibling.

The vines around his heart constricted painfully.

“Yes, we did,” he said. “You used to burn your tongue by trying to eat it without cooling it first.” Hanzo chuckled at the memories of Genji nursing a mouth that was too warm. He felt bad, but it had been hilarious at the same time.

“Hey!” His tone was indignant, but was as playful as ever. “You’re speaking as if you’ve never done anything embarrassing,” he said, almost sulking.

“Oh, really?” Hanzo smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Name something, then.”

“Well…” Genji looked to the side, settling back in his seat. He made an agonized noise.

“Exactly.” He enjoyed the small victory, and his words from earlier echoed. A defeat followed each victory, he thought to himself. Perhaps he’d enjoy a few more victories as the day progressed.

The younger Shimada blew a raspberry, screwing his eyes shut as he made the immature gesture. Hanzo rolled his eyes incredulously, the action latent with an underlying affection. “I’m sure something will come to mind,” he said, almost sulking.

“Tell me when you think of something,” Hanzo said. His smirk grew ever wider, morphing into a smug grin.

Genji stuck his tongue out at Hanzo in an act of childish defiance, to which Hanzo chuckled, bringing a hand up to his face to hide the grin that had become a smile.

“Are you laughing at me?” 

Hanzo composed himself, though his small, confident smirk still played on his features. “I apologize,” he said, with all the remorse of someone who had no real intention of apologizing.

Genji seemed to accept it as the best he would get, since he slouched down further in his chair. His back was flush with the padding of the booth, his feet haphazardly strewn underneath the table. Hanzo could feel his feet shuffling around, occasionally knocking into the table leg.

His brother had never taken kindly to lessons on etiquette while eating, the elder Shimada mused. It was almost comical how messy he could be.

“Order 652!” 

Numbers that would in any other case hold no meaning made Genji look up from his pouting.

“I’ll get it,” he said, clutching the receipt with the numbers on them. Hanzo fondly regarded his brother’s carelessness. 

He hadn’t even remembered to show Hanzo the order number, so it was more or less impossible for him to have gotten the order regardless.

His gaze lingered on his brother as he made his way back to their table, carrying a tray with two steaming bowls of ramen. “You’re gonna need some energy to lose to me even more later,” Genji teased.

Hanzo broke apart the disposable chopsticks that were provided after sliding his bowl off the tray and towards him, and he scowled.

“We’ll see about that.”

+++++

His shame and embarrassment were almost tangible by the time Genji had decided the time they spent together had been enough. True to his word, Genji had dragged him all around Hanamura, thoroughly beating him at nearly every activity that had caught his fancy.

Hanzo soothed away his ire by telling himself that it was not something he could avoid, but it didn’t make the bad taste at the back of his mouth go away any quicker. His younger brother was beaming, an incandescent ball of self confidence that bounded ahead of him. The day had been an opportunity for the two to spend time together, so Hanzo couldn’t exactly call it a failure. He had succeeded in spending time with Genji, and Genji enjoyed it immensely. He enjoyed it a bit too much, Hanzo commented internally.

The sun hung low in the sky, dying it a myriad of colors. Red stained the horizon, accompanied by dashes of orange, yellow, and slowly darkening blue. A few wispy clouds floated serenely, undisturbed by the soft breezes that whistled in the streets of Hanamura.

The darkness gave off the illusion of the day being over, when it was, in actuality, around 5PM. Genji had deemed the time they spent together enough for the day, and deigned to allow Hanzo return home with him. The older Shimada had never been more eager to return to the confines of the castle, all negative thoughts set aside in favor of going over his fonder memories of the day.

He had lost many, many battles, but no major injuries were sustained. On the contrary, Hanzo felt as if he had been healed. The burden on his shoulders was a bit more bearable, and he had been humbled by the experience.

Spending time with Genji was never viewed as wasteful to Hanzo. His brother was much like the garden on the Shimada grounds. Calming, though not tranquil. Constant, though not boring. Comforting, though not smothering. He was familiar. More familiar to Hanzo than things like training and traditional Japanese literature, more familiar than calligraphy and torture methods, more familiar than their father or mother- Genji was the thing, the person that Hanzo knew the best in his life.

Out of all the people who had entered his life, he had spent the most time with his younger brother. He hadn’t been able to as of late, however. His training had progressively eaten up more and more of his time as the days passed, as the years passed. The vines constricted once more as he thought of the new responsibilities that would await him come his sixteenth birthday.

As if sensing his unease, Genji slowed down, waiting until he was right next to Hanzo. Their hands brushed together, then clasped one another’s. Genji’s hands were warm. His younger brother laughed weakly to fill the silence as the looming gates of the castle came into view. “You should’ve just worn a jacket like I told you to. Your hands feel like ice.”

Hanzo looked down towards his brother, using his free hand to brush away a long lock of hair that spilled over his shoulder at the motion. “Are you sure that it is not you who has gotten sick?” Genji was already looking up at him, readily meeting his older brother’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he started, “I’m absolutely sure.”

It was Hanzo’s turn to laugh; the sound was insubstantial and fleeting. His eyes turned back to the path, and he felt Genji’s grip tighten when they saw a figure step out, waiting for them. Hanzo kept his relatively slack, not wanting to betray the way his heart had started to beat faster at the sight. 

A defeat followed each victory; a failure, each success.

It was their father.

Hanzo kept walking, and Genji struggled to keep up with his brother’s sure, steady pace. The pair drew closer and closer still, until the features of their father’s face became sharp and distinguishable.

“Father,” he greeted, bowing at a sharp 90 degree angle. Genji followed suit, his movements a bit more awkward than his brother’s. Hanzo stood straight again. 

His father’s rage was familiar, as was the sting left on his face from an admonishing slap. Hanzo willed himself to not flinch, keeping his gaze steady, his eyes trained up on his father’s. They were cold and turbulent; a storm broiled within the depths of his gaze. Genji’s grip tightened once more, and Hanzo gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Genji was like a deer in headlights, as he usually was. He stood shock still, his eyes aimed toward their father, but unseeing. He focused on the coldness of Hanzo’s hand instead of the coldness of their father's eyes. Hanzo understood. He would be the only one who had to face their father like this. Subconsciously, he moved so that their father’s tumultuous gaze would not fall upon his younger brother.

“Need I remind you that you are the heir, Hanzo?” His voice was stern and barely even. The disappointment in his tone was heavy. “I thought we had rid you of these habits five years ago; why is it now that you have decided to rear up again?” Hanzo could tell that his father hadn’t had a good day. He was not normally this easy to anger.

Behind him, Genji shifted, as if to speak up. Hanzo tightened his slackening grip in warning. His jaw was set in determination as he looked up at their father, replying calmly and slowly to hide his own shame and guilt. “I apologize, Father. It will not happen again.”

Their father’s eyes narrowed, as if judging his very core. Hanzo stood resolute, nothing betraying the lightning quick beating of his heart.

He seemed almost tired for a second, but Hanzo was not certain. His father glared, speaking in the same tense, even tone. “Do not disappoint me again, Hanzo,” he hissed, an air of finality in his tone. “I expect better from you in the future.” He turned on his heel and strode away. Only when his back was out of sight did Genji sigh in relief, as if to soften the atmosphere. His hand was still tightly grasping Hanzo’s. 

His heart was heavy with guilt when he noticed his younger brother’s hands were shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Genji asked. Hanzo felt distinctly _not okay_ , but didn’t think that his younger brother needed to have knowledge of it.

“Fine,” he replied curtly. Hanzo was sure to keep his features expressionless, as to not betray his inner turmoil. Calm. He was calm. He was okay; nothing was wrong.

Genji’s worried expression morphed into a scowl. “Stop it.” He spat out the words as if they were poison. To Hanzo, who had just braved his father, they might as well have been.

“Stop what?” Cold. Unfeeling. Machine. He didn’t feel anything, his brother did not make him feel anything.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Genji accused, his eyes blazing with a fire that did not shine. In his other hand, the _Pachimari’s_ tentacle warped from how tightly it was being gripped.

“I do not.”

Genji’s voice rose in volume. “You always do this! Why now, brother? Why right after the time we spent together? Why? Do you think I’m stupid, is that it? I bet you didn’t even want to spend time with me. You just came along so I’d stop annoying you!”

His shoulders stiffened as Genji ripped his hand out of Hanzo’s violently. “Time spent with you is not time wasted.”

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “Would it kill you to sound at least a little sincere while lying straight to my face?”

Hanzo felt the vines grow so tight that his heart crumbled under the weight. His breath hitched as the words came out of Genji’s mouth and his brother began to leave. “Genji, _wait_.”

He fumbled with the _Pachimari_ as it was thrown at him forcefully. Genji’s expression was distorted by frustration and anger. “Shut up, brother!” With one last burst of energy, he shouted. “I _HATE_ YOU!” Genji ran off into the castle.

Hanzo was left at the gate alone, clutching the smiling _Pachimari_ plush. It smiled in spite of everything that had just transpired, dully staring forward.

_Ah_ , Hanzo thought to himself. _The sunset is lovely today._

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaay running away from problems!


End file.
